Again
by edka88
Summary: Before retiring from stage for a short while Christine meets Raoul again, leading Erik to a disturbing conclusion.


Hello everyone!

Thanks a lot for dropping by. This story I'm posting now has a few references to some of my older stories and it's kind of a companion story for Fragile. I hope you'd like it!

Story is written because Raoul deserves to have someone who loves him. And because he needs someone to save.:)

**Again**

_Get away from her!_

That damned boy found Christine again, and now was standing with her in the hallway, chatting with _his_ wife in front of all the people in the opera house.

Erik was silently fuming in the shadows, ready to attack if his enemy dared to step closer to his wife that it was to his liking. How dare he was to show up in her life again! He didn't appreciate life very much if he forgot about what happened when he wanted to steal his love away.

Only moments ago did Christine announce her absent of stage for the following months (discreetly not mentioning her pregnancy; everyone would knew the reason behind her absence in a day, yet if anyone would mention it openly they would consider it scandalous and improper. Inexplicable.) And right after the final curtain call, the boy showed up again. Erik already noticed him during the performance and when he indeed sought out Christine in the end, Erik felt the twisted contentment that he was right. It soon faded, though, since the Vicomte wasn't simply there for greeting her.

For a moment Erik thought that he should have stood closer to them to hear what they were talking about… but Christine deserved to be trusted. Never did she give reason for him not to and he was completely convinced about her faithfulness – it was a foreign but reassuring feeling, the absolute confidence that she would always be there… but the nearness of that fool was really unnerving.

His palms curled into fists and felt the rope inside his sleeve – he dared to kiss her hand again. Even if it was just a formal gesture, if he wouldn't let go of her hand in three seconds…

He did. But if he would venture to touch her again he wouldn't have another moment with her. Or with anybody else.

_A lot of people kissed my hand tonight…_

Air left Erik's lungs in a choking sigh. She'd been afraid, and even more of that: she was terrified. What is worse, of her own husband. The memory of a spear's strike stung on his back and he felt ill.

_Christine, I didn't mean to…_

The pain, the disbelief, the doubt! He never wanted to see that in his wife's eyes. He didn't saw it since then but it could have remained there, hidden but never forgotten…

With great effort he managed to fight down that sickening feeling that rose in him; she married to just as a revolting man that he himself despised with all of his heart. But… but maybe she wasn't always afraid of him, was she? She certainly was his true companion, never keeping anything in secret but would she tell him if she was afraid of him?

He slid down to the floor by the wall. No, he wouldn't frighten her this time. She did nothing but spoke to one of her admirers.

Erik tried to take deep and even breaths.

_Christine, forgive me._

- o -

"You're married," Christine exclaimed cheerfully as Raoul pulled back after politely greeting her. Though it was the same sentence he greeted her with years ago when they first met after she'd left him, it bore quite different meaning – time changed a lot of things.

"Engaged," he corrected shyly, as if apologizing that he was able to move on.

Christine's curiosity couldn't rest after hearing such news but was it not inappropriate to ask his fiancée from his bride as his former one? "Who is she?" The words tumbled to her lips almost against her will but Raoul didn't seem to mind it at all. A bright smile appeared on his face as he spoke.

"She's a wonderful girl; I met her in England last year." He glanced worriedly in her eyes – maybe speaking to Christine about his bride would make her feel uneasy, but if it did he couldn't see it, so at her reassuring look he continued.

"She orphaned only a few months prior and she chose to marry me just to anger her guardians." There was an amused chuckle hidden in his words and Christine found it pretty charming. He really must have been in love with that unknown girl. "But then we didn't need to pretend anymore," he finished with a gauche smile and Christine grabbed one of his hands in a sincere gesture of relief.

"I'm so happy for you, Raoul. So happy." And she meant it. When they spoke the last time the suspicion that he was still pining after her made her feel so sorry for him; almost as much as she did when she returned to Erik. But to see that he was opened again for the goods that life could offer and what is more, that he considered her as some kind of friend; it was such a real solace.

"Let's not talk about me," Raoul continued with a dismissing wave of his hand. "How are you?" He asked, referring to her previous announcement about her temporary retirement.

"I am with child and I'm happier than ever. We both are." _And terrified as well._

"I hope everything is doing well for you," he answered, concern appearing on his face. It only lasted until she assured him about her well-being again, though.

"Please, give her my best regards," Christine asked him finally.

"I will," he promised.

For a short moment, they stared at each other, wondering whether not inviting Christine to Raoul's wedding was impolite but finally both of them decided that the inappropriate thing would be if he did invite her.

"Take care of you, Christine," Raoul bid her farewell at last.

"Yes; you too. Good night," she replied as she turned to leave.

"I will. Good night."

After Raoul had left, Christine carefully walked into the shadows where she was immediately enveloped in two strong arms – there was no question in her mind who they belonged to. Her husband embraced her tightly, his breath shuddering in and out of his lungs, ruffling her curls behind her ear – it was that troubled kind of embrace he gave her every time that _he_ wanted to be held.

Her arms encircled his waist in a comforting gesture. "You know how much I love you."

"That's why he is still alive," he growled.

She smiled into his shoulder as she gave a light caress to his back. _I'm so proud of you_, she thought but decided not to tell it to him. Somehow she suspected he wouldn't like to hear it.

"Must he always touch you and you take his hands in return?" He asked, still squeezing her body to his.

"He merely greeted me, Erik. And I took his hand in congratulation - he's getting married."

"It was high time for that," he murmured in reply.

"Let me change out of this dress and we can go home," she offered and reluctantly he drew back and walked her to her dressing room.

The door clicked shut behind them and Erik feverishly marched to the opposite wall, then turned around, but before he approached her he turned away again.

"Christine, forgive me," he said hoarsely and suddenly whirled around, dropping to his knees in front of her. "I've never thought… I didn't realize…" He took her hand, awkwardly choking back a sob and Christine's heart leapt to her throat.

"What… happened?" She asked hesitantly, looking down at her husband's hunched frame in front of her. When he didn't respond but continued to hold her hand as if it was the only thing that bound him to life, she warily lowered herself to the floor as well. "Have…" As cruel as it sounded, she still couldn't avoid the possibility. "Have someone died?"

His head lifted slowly, his face contorted with… guilt? "No," he answered, stubbornly holding on to her hand and finally she granted him a soft squeeze.

"Then…? What is it?" She urged, watching how he struggled to compose his irregular breathing. "Nothing happened between him and I," she offered timidly and he pressed her knuckles to his lips.

"I know," he breathed and lowered her hand but didn't let go of it. "I should have realized it back then," he began, clinging to her hand as if by releasing it hope would leave him as well. "I know how it feels to be constantly threatened. It's horrible. I know it. And yet I caused the same feeling in you." A shudder tore through his body and then he continued in a low, broken voice. "I wish I could hope you haven't lived your life beside me in the same terror I know from long ago," he confessed, lifting his eyes to hers in the end with the fear of verification.

"I don't dread you," she answered tentatively, waiting more and more impatiently for whatever he wanted to say.

"But you have been frightened," he insisted, wincing with the thought. "And... I didn't care when I first saw you with him."

"Ah, then," Christine sighed, finally coming to know what he was talking about.

"I've always despised those men and yet…" He couldn't finish, but she was there to reassure him.

"You've never abused me, Erik," she said, sliding closer to him in her hunched position.

"Your eyes... I know you were afraid. Christine, forgive me," he pleaded, his voice cracking on the last word, and he bowed his head in shame. _Forgive me. Forgive me._ It was like a prayer; he kept repeating it over and over in his mind in the hope she would knew it.

"I was," she admitted and he lowered his forehead so that it was resting on her knees. _Forgive me._ It was highly unexpected that her hand would be placed on his head, yet that was exactly what happened. "But only until you kissed me."

"Forgive me," came his muffled voice and she combed her fingers through his thin hair.

"I know you'd never hurt me."

"I'd rather die first."

"I know," she sniffled awkwardly, swallowing back the rest of the tears as the thought unfolded in her mind how horrible it would be if she lost him somehow. "And I knew this before _that_ happened."

"But then..."

"And I was sure _after_ that happened."

He lifted his head, still unsure to look into her eyes longer than a few seconds. She was weeping.

"I wasn't afraid since the first day I was with you under the opera house; not even after what happened in Germany."

His arm lifted to her face to sweep a curl back into place, hardly brushing her skin during the process. "Why are you crying?" He queried, almost whispering.

"Because you talked about your death!" She cried out suddenly, angrily wiping away most of her tears. "You know I can't control it anymore." Vaguely she motioned to her tears and knowingly he didn't say a word. The best way to comfort her was sometimes if he didn't try it at all.

"I don't want you to fear me even for a second," he insisted, reaching for her hand which she gave him without any further prodding.

"I don't. I won't be here if you'd be like you think yourself you are, believe me. But you're not an abuser," she said firmly, satisfied that he finally met her eyes again.

For minutes he took refuge in caressing small circles on her palms, examining the little lines in them as if that was the most fascinating sight he'd ever seen, and indeed it was. However, they quickly disappeared when her fingers curled around his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" His face snapped up with confusion.

"I'm a terrible wife," she whispered; when he didn't answer but kept staring at her, she took a deep, shaky breath before confessing. "I almost threw a vase at you."

"Almost?"

"I love all of them so very much," she explained shortly before her voice faded into nothing.

"And… when was that?" Disbelief was evident in his voice mingled with amusement, but thankfully, there was no sign of disappointment.

"When I told you I'm expecting and you stormed out of the room. What kind of wife would do such a thing?" She asked, grabbing his hands on the verge of tears again. Hopefully this emotional rollercoaster would end soon because she had no idea how long would she be able to endure it. Or how long _he_ would be able to.

"A forsaken one," he replied humorlessly and let out a deep sigh. "I hope you know I don't really hold it against you."

"Of course I do."

"Actually it's one of the strangest things I've ever felt," he admitted and moved a little closer to her so that he was now by her side, one arm wrapped around her frame. "May I?" He motioned shyly towards her still flat abdomen.

"You can't feel a thing yet," she giggled but set his palm on her stomach nonetheless. After holding it in place only for a moment his palm slid to her waist and the other sneaked its way across her upper body, holding her as he rested his head on her shoulder from behind.

For minutes, it was completely silent in the room.

"Erik, I'm not going anywhere." She got no answer, and the heavy silence began to suffocate her. "No one could handle my little mood swings as you do," she said with a smile hidden in her voice.

"Little?" She heard his muffled, teasing tone from behind and Christine gave a soft sigh of relief before turning around.

"Mostly." Leaning forward she gave him a lingering kiss, content that he buried his fingers in her hair, as he always did.

"What would you like for dinner?" He asked when they broke apart.

"Whatever. I'm famished."

First Erik rose from the floor, then pulled Christine up, too. "I'll help you out of your costume and we can leave in five minutes," he assured her and got a chuckle from his wife in reply.

"You spoil me," she giggled and stepped out of the dress to put on her own attire.

"You have to endure my nature in your whole life. You really deserve some compensation," he said as he fastened the last lace on her dress before they left for home.


End file.
